


狮爪 | Lion's Claws

by Auphiteus



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: F/M, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:20:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23493844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auphiteus/pseuds/Auphiteus
Summary: TLDR：希里今天不开心，吃个狐狸压压惊；然而经验有限，抓住后却不知如何下口。在某位不具名导师的热心指导下，希里最后还是吃到了狐狸；好吃。____"In stories from your people, foxes dare mess with lions usually don't end well."____*Now with an English translation in Chapter 2. I used machine translation to aid my own effort to create this English version. Due to my limited ability to use English, grammatical errors may be inevitable...I'm sorry for that.
Relationships: Avallac'h | Crevan Espane aep Caomhan Macha/Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

“如果觉得这种东西能困得住我，你就太小看贤者的能力了——”阿瓦拉克试着挣了挣被迫交叠的手腕，紧固处却毫无动静。吉薇艾尔正在用他床头抽屉里的柔软绳索在他的所有肢体上绑成一堆格外硌人的死结，却也没手腕上两轮冷冰冰的金属来得更让人浑身不适。下次他的确应该自己来教她怎么合理使用这些用 **蜘蛛丝** 拧的、贵得吓人的绳子……

“这是阻魔金手铐，你大可一试。”她挑了挑眉，伸手摸向他的脸颊，然后一脸无辜地狠狠捏了一把。她压上来时大开的衬衫领口边缘刮着他颤动的喉结。烛火将她一双绿眼染作猛兽般的琥珀黄，湿润却灼热。

——八成又是春药，却不知是何品类。

他早该知道被盖尔逮住不可能有什么好下场。而他们最不该做的事情其实只有一件：在一切结束后还胆敢回到提尔纳利亚，哪怕只是回到他私宅的地窖里取一桶珍藏百年的好酒——摄政王却猝不及防地登门来访，满脸堆笑地将他们双双拽进了一场饭局。

“艾恩艾尔世界欠你们一条大人情，尤其是吉薇艾尔——”

“就算二位只愿心领，我这东道主却不能怠慢——”

“我们（其实是我）为战胜白霜这个主题创作了一些艺术品。二位赏眼看看就好——”

“不不不，我们只谈艺术！以及美食和美酒……也会有些共同的熟人，毕竟艺术家还是需要观众的。”

之后的场面都是一阵动态模糊。一片弦乐如网罗绮交织中，他只在乎吉薇艾尔破天荒地对他家乡的社交场合表现出难得的耐心。他了解她的脾气，也领教过她的酒品，从一开始就意外于她竟然对盖尔答以应允；他承认自己没有意外于她忽然将自己从花园里拖了出去，在所有人面前化作一瞬绿光碧影。天旋地转后他就被结结实实地推在了床上，任她踢开抽屉翻出绳子将他捆了个动弹不得。哦，这还是提尔纳利亚，他卧室的陈设十分正常；但是吉薇艾尔看着却有些不太正常。

“去他妈的装模作样的精灵。”她正嘟囔着乱拽他的腰带。这个结的确打得紧了点，但他还是感到了被冒犯的不悦。

“吉薇艾尔，我需要知道你喝了什么东西——”

——他的秘银带扣在一声清脆的崩响中宣告报销。吉薇艾尔随手往后一丢，继续轻车熟路地解着他外袍下层叠衣物的系带与纽扣。此情此景让他只想掐住自己的鼻梁：她手上的动作这时候倒是格外灵活，在自己指导下练习施法时的僵硬感消失得一干二净。

“我想喝什么就喝什么，你管不着。还是说盖尔在酒里下毒了？”

“盖尔不会主动害我们；但他请来的客人里有我不信任的人物。”他只好闭上双眼任由对方施为，提前哀悼起了裹在身上的最后一件高级织物：如果自己无法配合，套头内衫是脱不下来的；但吉薇艾尔很擅长绕过“配合”来“解决”问题。“……你该知道宫廷游戏中往往会有春药的位置；提尔纳利亚也不例外。”

他的警告起了点作用——她慢慢地直起身来看着他；他这时才注意到对方面颊上浮着一抹轻红晕色。吉薇艾尔露出犬齿的缓慢微笑让她看起来活像只捕猎为生的肉食动物。

“是吗？那挺好的，反正我现在就要上你。”

她不知道从哪里抽出一把银亮的匕首，慢慢将刃尖抵到他锁骨上方的领口。贤者保持着绝对静止——直到清亮的裂帛声应时响起。接着，她却麻利地褪下皮裤，再次俯身跨坐在他动弹不得的大腿上，仍然挂着那副不怀好意的笑容。

阿瓦拉克只想狠狠地再次掐住自己的鼻梁。假使他的双腕没有被铐在床头，或许这次该用上电击来止住这阵突发头痛。

“一定要现在？头脑不清醒时跟人上床的坏处可不少——”

吉薇艾尔的舌头尝起来有樱桃酒与覆盆子露的甜美香气。她用力却缺乏技巧地吮着，比起接吻来更像标记或掠夺，让他的回应一时变得忙乱不已。他刚收起心神准备主动结束这个吻、好让她能有点时间找回理性，但却被猛然贯穿上唇的痛感中断思考。

肇事者捏着他的下巴，迫使他抬眼看向她。她的眼妆在厮磨中被抹花不少，刚刚亲吻过的唇上还沾着他上唇被咬出的血。她咬了咬牙，眼神变得坚硬了几分，捏在他脸上的手指却松了下来。

“我看该清醒一点的是你吧。”她的声音小得几乎不像是说给他听的——而后就毫不客气地将他的罩裤往下一扯。

吉薇艾尔的爱抚像她的亲吻一样急切而生涩。她隔着亵裤软滑的质地揉弄他，却始终有些不得要领。哪怕他还是理所应当地起了反应，出乎他意料的是，她的表情里却没有半分满意，甚至还生出一丝莫名愠怒。她最后的几次套弄已经称不上是取悦，这让他皱起了眉；手腕上两轮冰冷的阻魔金却切断了所有基于外源魔力波动的读心途径。

——她今天到底是怎么回事？

“这就准备好了吗？”吉薇艾尔忽然凑到他耳边说道，仍然握着他亵裤下已经初步“准备好了”的那部分。他不需为此说谎，但他完全读出了眼下情境酝酿的某种威胁含义，这让他脑中灵光一现。

他想起来了。在刚才那场宴会的大多数时间里，她都乖乖地待在他身边，与他一起安静地将高脚杯屡次斟满，端详着这场宴会的名义主角们，那些竖在花园里、挂在架子上和浮在空中的材质各异的艺术品；偶有衣着考究的熟面孔向他举杯寒暄，客气几句后就消失在迷宫般的树篱与喷泉之间。直到他的皮靴忽然溅上一碟深色酱汁；吉薇艾尔自然是去扶起那个惶恐躬身的冒失侍童， 而宴会的真正主角却在那一刻准时驾到，用几句大度美言把他和那个慌张的侍童从吉薇艾尔身边临时支了开去，“只罚你帮我们的贤者清理干净，直到他满意为止”。虽然他再三确认盖尔和她的举动都并未离开自己的视线，但此刻她眼中涌动的莫名情绪，想必就是从盖尔与她单独相处闲谈的那段时间开始酝酿的。

吉薇艾尔的手指忽然往上一拢，指尖隔着绸料轻揉蕈盖顶部，蛮不讲理地将他的注意力从推理中抢了回去；他为此呼吸一窒。看他没有明显回应，她再次向前挪了挪，直到腿心的高热柔软抵上他注意力被迫汇聚的焦点，恶意地挺身压动。他不得不用力握紧铐在床头的双手，注意力在若有似无包裹着顶端的高热中逐渐虚化，变得模糊。

——是否有人对她说了什么不适当的言辞？这个问题在他舌尖一路徘徊，在他的理性与逐渐升起的欲望迷雾之间跳着危险的舞蹈。但这的确是个愚蠢的问题：它的答案早已写在其他与宴者做工考究的飘逸丝袍与她的猎魔人装束之间，写在他们耳轮形状的差异之中，乃至于写在此刻吉薇艾尔注视着他的身体的每个细节时变得越发复杂的表情里。

她在光线昏暗处有种奇妙的脆弱感：垂发阴影罩上半边面孔，在眼中投下迟疑，像是黄昏归鸟提高警惕躲避天敌；哪怕此时她已刻意戴上捕食者的面具。

吉薇艾尔再度坐上他的大腿，双手剥开被割破的衣料。她看似漫不经心地在他胸前的皮肤上逡巡，模仿着他胸前的符文刺青线条的粗细轻重，剪短指甲轻刮的触感如同电流游走。她观察着他不规则起伏的胸廓，滑移十指逐渐游向他绷紧的小腹。

“名字明明叫狐狸，身上却一根毛都没有。”

“而且到处都是硬邦邦的。”

“还真是一点都不可爱。”

她瘪了瘪嘴，喷出一口悻悻不平的鼻息，而后俯伏下去——当那团在烛光下显得毛茸茸的灰白乱发盈满他的视野时，他终于无法克制地大声喘息。吉薇艾尔的取悦仍然不算熟练，但足以让他全身血流都集中到她刻意挑衅的那一处，在无法排解的快感中开始痉挛。她潮热的舌面从柱端往下一路扫到底，从脐下往上寸寸掠向乳尖。他本以为她会继续往上直到迎向自己早已准备好的亲吻，锁骨上却忽然被她用力咬了一口。

“在花园里的时候，我听人说你喜欢用绳子……我猜也是，毕竟在你的实验室见过证据了。”

原来如此，那道茂密树篱后藏着的窃窃私语恰好能让听者起意，这才是盖尔支开自己的缘由。这种“玩笑”在他所知的生活里平淡得简直称不上冒犯，提尔纳利亚城内关于他的各种传言在劳拉离开后的数百年间从未停息过；毒液必然会流淌，妒火必然会蔓延，落在他背后的指点必然连带将他身边一切都视作消遣——

他不该忘记的。自她初次光临自己的世界，更尖锐的恶意早已扎在她身上了。

“我不得不好奇，为什么你一次都没有向我提起过——不许说话，不许软。”颈侧传来她安静却果决的声音，握在他性器上的压力也骤然紧了几分，再次开始上上下下地刻意折磨……他不得不从命。

吉薇艾尔直起身体将两人下体最后的遮蔽褪去，先是他的，而后是她自己的。他在短促的喘息间找寻着与她眼神的可能交点，一切争相上浮的词句都已知趣地退回识海：他自知此刻唯一具备功效的语言仅存于触感之中。哪怕他能空出一只手也好——

而当她骤然下沉试图将他吞入时，两人都为本不该存在的痛楚倒吸一口冷气。

她小心翼翼地呼吸着，有些艰难地往前倚向他的胸膛，半阖绿眼中因为疼痛而缩小的瞳孔几如一记重锤击中他的胸口：就算早已不是第一次缠绵，没有他的爱抚，她却根本算不上准备周全。她一定是发现自己比想象中更加依赖对方，这番领悟却让她生出抗拒与不安。

他不由得低头轻吻她的头发，唇上的咬痕拂过她发梢时仍有细微的烧灼感。他听到她缓慢呼出一口气，被钳紧挤压的不适感却没有减轻丝毫。他用力倾身向前，好让双唇触上她的耳轮。

“你还没有准备好。可是心中有所烦扰？”

吉薇艾尔忽然抬起下身将他放开，重新向床侧坐下，两手在床上被割破的散乱衣物中握拢成拳，肩头越绷越紧。

“——为什么你看起来总是这么……悠闲？从容？不在意？”她努力搜索可用的词汇，不自然地掩饰着语气中容易露怯的部分。“而听起来你的旧情人在床上很是游刃有余。她能跟你玩出这么多花样，你一定很享受吧。”

她刻意避开他探询的眼神，将表情埋进垂散的灰白长发里——他无法否认，她在这个角度的确很像 **她** 。只是劳拉从来没有接近过他的卧榻，也从来不会像她现在这样，为了一个关于他的无足挂齿的因由而被困在焦虑与倔强之间陷入两难；而他对劳拉也从来没有像现在这样，急切渴望以肌肤相接的温度来安慰她心头哪怕最细微的波澜起伏。或许也是有过的，只是岁月早已让倏忽记忆永埋砂底——是劳拉的离去带来了自己与她的相遇。命运因果非人能预，而他也不再回头。

或许人类那倾向于诉诸肉体的爱欲与容易胡思乱想的心理的确都有某种传染性。他再次诅咒起手上的两轮冰冷金属和被浪费的蜘蛛丝绳。其实阻魔金手铐对他的拘束力并不比普通手铐强多少；但他决定现在还是将这个小秘密收起待用。

“如果我说，这些经历都并不比与你相处更令我享受呢？”

“男人在床上都是这么说的。”

“而我不是人类，吉薇艾尔。”

她抬起脸瘪着嘴对他翻了个白眼，呼出一口鄙夷的鼻息，但勾勒肩背的紧张线条稍微松弛了一点。他的一侧嘴角也不自觉地为此上扬了几分。

“我族寿命漫长。有时候，长期关系会不可避免地依赖床上的创意。你还很年轻，不需操之过急。”

“而我不希望自己仍被当成小孩看待，阿瓦拉克。”

“你自然不是，”他赞同道，继而一转话锋。“但你仍然是个学生。”

绿瞳一闪，不服气的尖锐神芒亮如雪刃，很好。她热烈无拘的个性是永不熄灭的火苗，甚至能融化最绝望的寒境；这诚然是上古血脉的馈赠，却也是她行走世间短暂年月中的全部经历所铸——

这是他所知的吉薇艾尔的所有面相中，他最珍爱的部分。

“让爱侣彼此愉悦的技巧，就像一切其它知识一样能经由学习和实践增长。”他不慌不忙地伸了伸被捆住的双臂，用力弓起腰背，好让自己在床头的丝绒靠枕上找到个舒服的受力点。“这是你亲身体验过的可信事实，不是吗？”

“……明明是我要上你，结果话还是都被你说完了。”她小声嘀咕着，偏过脸去避开他的目光，耳垂与后颈却有些泛红。真可爱。

“在情欲的艺术中，拘束并非惩罚、而是极致释放的通途；而掌控同时也意味着取悦与服务。像往常一样，如果你想学，我可以教你。”

她咬紧了嘴唇。他几乎能听到她逐渐加速的心跳声。

“你说想上我，而我很乐意。”他挺起上身半靠在床头，故意将声线放得蛊惑而柔软：“吉薇艾尔，不要光说不练；再来一次。”

话音刚落，时空激波就如海浪触崖般在室内散开。极光一般明亮的翠色瞬间映入他的双眼——生动、鲜明，勾魂摄魄；或许命运赐他孑孓难平数百年，当真只是为此等待。

“告诉我要怎么做。”

……啊，吉薇艾尔。但凡教导过你的人，无不将你评价为万里挑一。你的确是个聪明颖悟的学生，只需一点重启信心的助力。

“若要体验掌控的快乐，你必先给予对方欢愉；而若想保证对方的愉悦，你也需要充分取悦自己。——亲吻我，吉薇艾尔。”

于是她亲吻他。不同于之前几乎是惩罚的索取掠夺，这一次她捧着他的后脑勺，贪婪而深入地与他唇齿相缠。她恋恋不舍地滑过他的下龈，小心翼翼点触他被咬破的上唇，最后将他的舌尖一并引回自己口中，在意乱情迷边缘舞成灼热柔嫩的交欢。当她不得不离开他的唇喘息时，胸前隔着棉质衬衫随着破碎呼吸起伏的一片温热柔软的美妙触感，让他几如触电般颤抖。

——要让她把衣服脱下来。他眯起双眼，咬上她已经滑到腋下的衬衫领口；她会意地将手够到侧面去拆掉护住衬衫下摆的皮质腰封；而他趁机品尝她逐渐裎露、而自己也够得着的每一寸躯体，用牙齿扯开裹住她的衬衫与胸衣。片刻后，她终于和他一样一丝不挂——除了他手腕和脚踝上的蜘蛛丝绳索之外。很好。

吉薇艾尔跨坐在他的下腹上，灰白长发如水岸春杨一般垂向他的面庞。她往后挺起身，将一只手伸向侧后方支撑起身体，而另一只手则在他的注视下伸向双腿之间。她当着他的面取悦自己，模仿他想象中自己舌尖与手指的节奏抚弄秘处，直到翠瞳睁开时明澈不再，情欲沉沉。一览无余的视角使得他的喉管骤然干涸，阴燃的火苗从脊柱底端一直烧到耳尖。这当真聪明，颖悟，无师自通——

她忽然抽出沾满爱液的手指向身后探去，抚上他已经挺起的分身。他大口喘息着，用力闭上双眼，知道她的主场这才正式开始。在隔绝视线之前，他清晰地记得她在垂发的幽深阴影中再度露出一个属于利齿、锐眼与密软毛皮的微笑。

“又准备好了啊。要是我还没开始你就结束了，那可不行。”

“如果你只是看着我就已经这样了，还是蒙起来吧——”

他睁眼后正要有所反应时视野忽然一暗，鼻端也闻到了熟悉的覆盆子香气，是她沾了酒滴的衬衫。她克制的呼吸声随即临近耳畔，双腿也用力夹住他的腰际；而他下腹紧绷的肌肉忽然触上某种湿润黏滑的沉重压力，有节奏地蹭动着；而他被忽略的性器则在她身体的每一次起伏中划过臀峰，困在片刻的温热抚慰与长久的渴求中无计可施……她从来都不是个循规蹈矩的学生；他要如何教导这样的学生？

“吉薇艾尔！你不能——我……我要——”他自认再也无法教导，只好甘心沉沦。

她自顾自磨蹭着他的躯体，在他的小腹上留下道道水痕；任他如何在欲海翻浪中苦苦挣扎，她都不管不顾，自己渴望的温热包裹感从未降临。当吉薇艾尔终于在高潮时扑向他的胸膛、摸索着吻上他时，他却还是几乎忍不住立即射出来的冲动：她躯体的温度与重量覆盖着他，线条流畅的结实肌肉挤压着他，浸透情热的柔滑肌肤裹着细密薄汗紧贴着他，而她此刻还在余韵中压着自己小腹微微蠕动的湿软秘处则在挑战他自制力的底线。他不得不承认，在他以奇迹化身的年轻恋人身上，自己基于年岁阅历的耐心也摸到了终点。

阻魔金奈何不了源术士的内生魔源。他虽然并无吉薇艾尔的能力，但他的血脉却也曾是这个系谱的重要一环。当手腕上那两轮冰冷金属中的锁扣猛然弹开、捆绑他四肢的蜘蛛丝绳如蛇一般自行游散时，发出的细微声音只有他自己听得见。

※

希里软绵绵地趴在阿瓦拉克身上，感受着他仍然汹涌的心跳与不复规律的呼吸，双手在他腰侧心不在焉地抚摩着。本来自己的确是想“上”他的，最后却还是自顾自地高潮了……只是可怜了身下这位任由自己予取予求的导师；之后还是再跟他好好做一次吧。

不知何时解放的一双手臂忽然捧起自己的腰臀，将还未停止蠕动的入口支在他依然欲求不满的分身上挑逗。不等她抬起脸抗议，高潮过后忽然被充满的甜蜜颤栗与熟悉的酥麻电流在瞬间就夺走了她的全部声音。

“吉薇艾尔， **你翘课了** 。”

※

“说真的，我讨厌这里。在你背后讨论的人可不少，要么说你在迁就我，要么就是你用什么方法强迫了我，或者我强迫了你。就像我根本不存在一样。”好不容易将她安抚得服帖柔软，女猎魔人再度开口时仍然字字如剑。大概在很长一段时间里她都不会想再来了。或许以后都——他注视着飘忽的烛火，将思绪逐出脑海，空出的右手埋进她的长发。

“我讨厌盖尔。”他喃喃道。在这之后得为她配点药膏保养皮肤——对方带着薄茧的掌心抚上他侧颌的弧线，他就干脆闭眼沉浸在略微粗糙的触感里。

“别忘了你的‘熟人’们。我讨厌她们。”辛特拉的幼狮又皱了皱鼻子，眼中泛出与她的养母神态几乎无二的尖锐质询，语气上的唯一区别却是几分诚实却倔强的委屈：“而且那时你也一直盯着她们看，却不看我。”而后算不上用力地锤了他一拳。

……精灵贤者直欲仰天长叹。“希里，你忘了吗？在你们的故事里，敢跟狮子混在一起的狐狸都没什么好结局。我早已落入你的掌心，而你竟以为我逃得出你的小爪子。”

Fin.


	2. Lion's Claws - English version

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In stories from your people, foxes dare mess with lions usually don't end well."
> 
> ____  
> I used machine translation to aid my own effort to create this English version. Due to my limited ability to use English, grammatical errors may be inevitable...I'm sorry for that.

"If you think that I could be restrained by THIS, you are underestimating an Aen Saeverne -"

Avallac’h tried to wrestle his restrained wrists from the knot, while the fastening stayed unmoved. Zireael was tying the soft rope from his bedside drawer into a series of fast knots grinding on all his limbs. However, the two cuffs of cold metal suddenly circled on his both wrists began to bring him discomfort-this time much more prominent than from the knots. He really should teach her himself on how to **properly** use this scarily-expensive spider silk rope afterwards...

"These are Dimeritium handcuffs, do help yourself to take a try." She raised an eyebrow and feigned an innocent look. Then she reached out one hand to cup his cheek before giving it a hard squeeze. As she pressed up to him, the edge of her wide-open shirt collar scraped at his throbbing adam's apple. The candlelight tinted her green eyes into a beastly amber, burning while damp.

...Probably the effect of aphrodisiacs (again), but he did have no clear evidence.

He should have known that getting caught by Ge'els was usually unlikely to end well. And the last thing they should have done was to return to Tir ná Lia after that whole ride, even if it was only teleporting to the cellar of his mansion to fetch several casks of wine from his centuries-old collection. However, gracing a suspicious smile, the Regent emerged unexpectedly at his door, then dragged them both into a dinner party:

_\- "The world of Aen Elle owes both of you a great debt and immense gratitude, especially to Zireael-"_

_\- "Even if you two wish to acknowledge it only at heart, as a host, I must ensure this gratitude from my people to be properly delivered..."_

_\- "We (actually I myself) created some artwork in the theme of defeating the White Frost. Please, just come and have a look..."_

_\- "No, no, no, we will only talk about art! As well as food and wine...There will also be some mutual acquaintances. After all, you may notice that the artist always needs the audience. "_

Following memories was a series of flowing blur. The only thing he cared about was the unprecedented patience that Zireael showed for the social occasions in his homeworld. Had known well of her temper as well as her drinking manner, he had been surprised from the beginning that she would agree to Ge'els. He conceded that he should not be surprised that she suddenly teleported themselves out of the garden, fled in a blinding flash of green light in front of all others. After a moment of sky-spinning disorientation, he was pushed firmly against the bed, leaving her kicking open the drawers and fishing out the rope to tie him up. Oh, they were still in Tir ná Lia, since the sight of his bedroom was perfectly normal. However, Zireael seemed to be not even close to so-called normal.

"Damn you pretentious elves." Muttering, she tugged at his belt messily, a merciless wrestle. It was true that his belt was tied somehow needlessly tighter, but he still felt slightly offended by her words.

"Zireael, I have to know what you had been drinking during-"

His silverite belt-buckle announced its own demise in a loud clatter. Tossing off his belt, Zireael continued to untie the laces and buttons of layers of clothing underneath his robe with careless ease. The sight made him just want to pinch the bridge of his nose. Such dexterity and nimbleness of her hands contrasted mockingly against the stiffness during her practice under his guidance.

"I drink whatever I like, it's none of your business. Or did Ge'els poison the wine?"

"Ge'els will not take the initiative to harm us, but there are individuals worth caution among the guests he invited."

Closing his eyes, all he could do was to mourn in advance for the last piece of fine clothing on his body and let her do whatever. If he couldn't cooperate, the pullover shirt wouldn't come off by its own. However, Zireael was extremely good at bypassing "cooperation" to "solve" problems.

"...You should know that aphrodisiacs tend to play a dispensable role in court games. The court in Tir ná Lia is no exception."

His warning worked. She slowly straightened up to look at him, that's when he noticed a light blush floating upon her cheeks. Zireael's slow smile showing canine teeth made her look alive, like a carnivore that hunts for a living.

"Really? That's fine. Since I’m going to **fuck** you anyway."

She pulled a silver-bright dagger from nowhere and slowly pressed the tip of the blade against the collar above his collarbone. The Sage remained perfectly still - until a clear splitting sound from the silk rang out in response. Then, she nimbly removed her leather pants and leaned down again to sit across his unmoveable laps, still wearing that wicked smile.

Avallac'h just wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose hard, again. If his wrists weren't handcuffed to the headboard of the bed, perhaps he should be able to rid off the sudden headache with an electric shock.

"Must it be now? There are countless negativities on sleeping with someone when not being sober enough..."

Zireael's tongue tasted of cherry wine and the sweetness of raspberry juice. She sucked hard but lacked skill, more of marking or pillaging than kissing, making his response momentarily hectic. He had just gathered his mind and was about to end the kiss on his own initiative so that she could have some time to regain her sanity when he was interrupted by a painful sensation shot through his upper lip.

The perpetrator pinched his chin, forcing him to look up at her. Her eyelines had been blotted out in the tussle, and her freshly kissed lips were still stained with the blood from his bitten upper lip. She gritted her teeth a little, her eyes hardened somehow, while the fingers that had pinched to his face came loose.

"I guess it's **YOU** who should be sober for this." Her voice was so small it barely seemed to speak to him - and then his pants were unceremoniously yanked down.

Caresses from Zireael were as eager and rusty as her kisses. She rubbed him through the soft smooth texture of his smalls, but never exactly satisfying. Even though his body still responded as it should, surprisingly, her face did not show even a trace of satisfaction, apart from a hint of inexplicable anger. Grimacing, he realized that her last few caresses had been hardly pleasing as it should. The two rounds of ice-cold Dimeritium on his wrist had cut off all pathways to mind-reading based on casting from external magic source.

_\- What the hell is wrong with her today?_

"So you’re now ready?" Suddenly, Zireael murmured by his ear, still holding his part that had become tentatively "ready" underneath. He didn't need to lie about this natural yet primitive reaction, but he completely sensed the subtle threat brewing in her tone. It made his mind wander for a while.

He remembered. For most of the feast, she remained by his side, quietly refilling her glasses, studying said “stars” of this feast: artworks of various materials, erected in the garden, hanging on the shelves and floating in the air. Occasionally, a well-dressed acquaintance would raise a glass to him, then disappeared into the maze of hedges and fountains after a few polite words. All were in relative peace until a dish of dark sauce suddenly splattered on his leather boots. Zireael instinctively went to pick up the reckless servant, who fearfully knelt down in an instant, before the real main man arrived on time and spared his grace. _"Your only punishment is to get our sage clean until he declares your remedy satisfactory"_ \- with just a few generous words, Ge’els send him away from Zireael with a perfect excuse. Although he had firmly assured that Ge'els and Zireael stayed in his sight while being attentively wiped at his attire, the inexplicable coming storm in her eyes at this moment, here and now, must have been brewing from her little chat alone with Ge'els.

Zireael's splayed fingers suddenly came together and scraped at the top of his member under the silk, snatching his attention from reasoning in a rather unreasonable way, forcing out some of his reluctant grunts. Seeing no apparent response from him, she moved forward and rubbed on him wantonly, until the soft heat between her legs against his crotch forced his scattered mind to converge into one certain focus. He had to grip his cuffed hands hard at the headboard, with attention fading and blurring in the devilish sensation.

_-Did anyone say anything inappropriate to her?_ The question lingered on the tip of his tongue, a dangerous dance between his sanity and the gradually rising fog of desire. But it was a silly question indeed: the answer to it had long been written between those fine flowing silk robes on Ge'els' elven guests and her own witcher attire, between the differences in the shape of their ears, and even more so in her face that became more and more unreadable as Zireael gazed at every detail of his body.

Her subtle vulnerableness glared in the dim light. The shadow of her drooping hair hooded half her face, casting hesitation in her eyes. Somehow, it reminded him of a bird on alert at dusk to hide from its predators, even when she had deliberately put on the mask of such a foe of hers.

Zireael sat on his lap again, hands peeling back the shredded fabric. Seemingly absentminded, she brushed against the skin of his chest, mimicking the irregular lines of rune tattoos on his chest, the sensation of newly-clipped nails scraping lightly on him resembled flowing electric currents. Her hands wandered on his chest measuring his every laboured breath, ten fingers gradually swam towards his taut abdomen.

"Got a fluffy animal for the name, while without a single patch of fluff on the body."

"And being extremely rigid to touch as well."

"You really are not cute at all."

She twisted her lips and let out a snort as if slightly annoyed at his lacking reply. Then as sudden as her tone switching, she slumped down. He found himself gasped loudly when her ashen mess of hair - adorably fluffy in the candlelight - filled his vision. Zireael's pleasuring was still inexperienced, but enough to make all his blood flowing to the area she deliberately provoked at and his member starting to spasm in an unquenchable rush of desire. Her hot tongue swept all the way down from the end of his shaft, then skimmed inch by inch from his navel up to his nipples. He had expected her to continue upward until meeting his long-ready kiss, but instead, she suddenly took a hard bite on his collarbone.

"When I was in the garden, I heard that you actually like ropes...I guess so, after all, I've seen the evidence in your lab."

It turned out that the dark whispers hidden behind the dense hedges were served as a specific dish to one certain listener - this must be the true reason of Ge'els sending him away. Such "jokes" now were too bland to be offensive to him. What can be worse? After Lara's departure, sardonic and even vicious gossips about him had been spreading around Tir ná Lia for centuries and never ever ceased. Jealousy was bound to brew among comparison, venom was bound to flow in wrath. Entirely predictable, picking at his every acquaintance as material for a nasty little pastime…

He shouldn't have forgotten _that_. A sharper kind of malice had already found her as a target since her first visit in his world.

"I had to wonder why you didn't mention it to me once - dare you to talk! Dare you going limp as well." Her quiet but decisive voice came from the side of his neck, with the pressure on his manhood suddenly tightened. Once again, the deliberate but delicate torture began to accelerate and intensify...he had to obey.

Straightened up, Zireael removed the last of the covering on their lower bodies, first his and then her own. He searched for her gaze between short gasps, words unspoken that were once clamouring to splutter out were forced back to the bottom of his larynx: he knew that the only language that had any effect at the moment should be found in sensations given by amorous finesse. Were he able to spare even one hand...

Then, as she suddenly sank down to sheath him in, a flash of uninvited pain instantly drew a hiss from both.

Breathing with caution, Zireael tentatively leaned forward to his chest, the pupils in her half-lidded green eyes narrowing from pain. This vulnerable image of her enduring struck him hard as a hammer. Even if not being the first time, she still didn’t seem to be well prepared without his caress. She must have found herself more dependent on the other than acceptable, and this realization caused her to feel uneasy and become restless.

He couldn't help but bow his head and plant kisses in her hair, the bite on his upper lip still burning faintly as it brushed against her ashen tresses. He heard her let out a slow breath, but the discomfort of being squeezed by her clamp-like body didn't lessen in the slightest. He leaned ever forward so that his lips could touch her ear.

"You seem to be underprepared. Would there be anything bothering you?"

Suddenly, Zireael lifted her lower body to release him and sat down again toward the side of the bed, both hands clenched into fists in the scattered fabric on the bed that had once been his clothing, her shoulders tensing with each passing moment.

"Why do you always seem so... _unagitatable? Reserved? Indifferent_?" She searched with struggle for Hen Llinge words available, endeavouring to mask the subtle glimpse of weakness in her tone. "It sounds like your old flame is quite the lead in bed. You must enjoy how she share such many tricks with you. Kinks as well."

She folded her arms and shielded her expression under her ashen locks, deliberately avoiding his probing gaze. He couldn't deny that she did resemble _her_ in no small scale at this angle. It was just that Lara had never been found even being near his bedroom, never been caught between anxiety and stubbornness for such an insignificant reason about him as she was now, and he had never been so eager towards Lara to comfort even the slightest ripple of her heart with the warmth of skin contact. Perhaps there were moments like this, but the flowing years have long since buried the memory. It was Lara's departure that brought them together, after all - fate and karma are indeed not suitable for mortals to meddle; and in the end, he stopped looking back as well.

Perhaps it is true that the human mindset, which tends to resort to physical intimacy for love and be prone to ramblings, is somehow infectious in some way. He cursed again the two circles of cold metal and the wasted spider silk rope binding his hands. In fact, even Dimeritium handcuffs were no different than ordinary handcuffs in restraining him. But he decided to put this little secret away, for now.

"What if I said that none of these experiences was more enjoyable to me than your company?"

"Men always say that in bed."

"And I'm not a 'man', Zireael."

She lifted her face, twisted her mouth and rolled her eyes at him, exhaling a contemptuous snort, but the tension that outlined her shoulders loosened a little. One corner of his mouth also unconsciously lift up in response.

"My people have a long lifespan. Sometimes, long-term relationships inevitably rely on creativity in bed. With your life still young to enjoy, isn’t it too early to fall into their mindstate, yes?"

"And I don't want to still be treated like a child, Avallac'h."

"Definitely, you are not." he agreed, following with a twist of the tongue. "But you are still a student."

Her green irises ignited at once, the sharp aura of defiance in her eyes suddenly as bright as a polished blade. Very good. Her passionate and carefree personality was an unquenchable fire, capable of melting even the most desperate Frost. A true jewel beyond any price, not just a gift from her blood but also forged from all her experiences in the short years she walked this world -

Among all the aspects of Zireael he knew, _this_ was the part he cherished the most.

"Like any knowledge, the skill of pleasuring between lovers can be improved through learning and practice." Unhurriedly, he stretched his bound arms and arched his back so that he could find a comfortable position on velvet cushions stacked at the head of the bed. "It's a fact that you've experienced firsthand, isn't it?"

"...Even if I said that it is me that’s going to fuck you, somehow you still managed to throw out this lecturing." She deadpanned, turning her face to avoid his gaze, while her earlobes and the back of her neck turned out to be amusingly flushed. Adorable.

"In the art of desire, restraint is not a punishment, but a pathway to the ultimate release; to be in control also means to please and serve. As always, if you want to learn, I can always teach you."

She worried her lip between her teeth. He could almost hear her gradually accelerating heartbeat.

"You said you wanted to fuck me, and I was happy to." He straightened his upper body and repositioned himself until he half leaned against the head of the bed, deliberately tending his voice to be as tender and alluring as possible: "Zireael, don't just talk without practice. Do it again."

As his words fell, a space-time surge rippled through the room like sea waves crashing against reef. A flash of emerald orbs, bright as the mysterious aurora – vivid, vibrant, and arresting as life itself, blazed through his eyes in an instant. Perhaps, he had to conclude, why Fate intentionally blessed him with centuries of cruel solitude was simply meant for him to wait for this moment.

"Tell me what should I do."

_....Ah, Zireael. Whosoever has the privilege to teach you would evaluate you as one of a thousand. You are already as bright as an ideal student can be, what remains is to rekindle your confidence via subtle guidance._

"If you are to experience the pleasure of dominating, offer pleasure in advance. If you are to guarantee the pleasure of your partner, have some for yourself first - kiss me, Zireael."

So she kissed him. Unlike the almost retributive and pillaging kiss before, this time she cupped the back of his head, her kiss greedily melting between his lips. She slid over his lower gums, cautiously dabbing on his bitten upper lip, and finally invited the tip of his tongue back into her own mouth, dancing into a searing, tender encounter on the edge of ecstasy. When she had to leave his lips to gasp, the unimaginably wonderful touch of the warm softness promised under her cotton shirt pressed upon his chest undulating with a broken breath made him shiver for a moment.

_Have to get her to remove her garment._ He lowered his eyes and purposefully bit into the collar of her shirt, which had slipped under her armpits. She willingly reached to the side to remove the leather waistband that covered the hem of the shirt, and he took the opportunity to kiss and taste every inch of her gradually exposed and accessible skin, tearing open the corset wrapped around her chest with his teeth. A moment later, she was finally as naked as he was, except for the spider silk ropes around his wrists and ankles. Very good.

Zireael sat on his lower abdomen, ashen hair splayed on her face like how a spring willow caresses the water with its branches. Straightened her back, she propped one arm at the side to support her body, while the other hand slid straight between her legs. She deliberately pleasured herself in his watchful gaze, mimicking the rhythm of his tongue and fingers in his own imagination to caress her sex, until her emerald orbs were heavily lidded with desire when opened after. His breath was stricken out abruptly at the unobstructed view, a smouldering need electrifying from the base of his spine to the tip of his ear. _That **IS** very clever, intelligent even, and brilliantly self-taught..._

Unexpectedly, she withdrew her soaked fingers and reached behind to stroke his already stiff member. Gasping heavily and squeezing his eyes close, he suddenly realized that she just officially arrived at her home turf. He vividly remembered, before being blocked out the view, a smile on her face again in the deep shadows of her drooping hair. A smile that belonged to sharp teeth, fiery eyes and dense fur.

"Getting ready again, huh? There's no way you finish this before I even start."

"If you're already like that just by looking at me, it's better to cover up your eyes then -"

He was about to react when he opened his eyes, then his vision suddenly dimmed. The familiar scent of raspberries hit his nostrils was from her wine-stained shirt. Her controlled breathing came close to his ears, and her legs clamped down on his waist, while the tense muscles of his abdomen suddenly sensed a rhythmically rubbing pressure, wet and sticky. His neglected member briefly touched her bottom in every rise and fall of her body, trapped in momentum warm relief and unquenchable throbbing thirst, rendered him completely helpless under her body, deprived of the ability to do anything... She had never been a rule-following student; how would he teach such a student?

"Zireael! You can't...I - I need..." He finally found himself no longer be able to take the lead, only left to follow willingly.

She rubbed herself against his torso, leaving patches of wetness on his abdomen. She didn't care how he struggled through the waves of lust, the warm sensation of being enveloped he keenly craved never came. When Zireael finally fell on his chest and fumbled to kiss him when she crested, he could barely resist the urge to cum immediately. The heat and weight of her body covered him, the firmness of her muscles squeezed him, the heat-soaked smoothness of her skin in a thin sheen of sweat pressed against him, and the soft wetness of her sex still pulsing in the afterglow and squirming against his skin challenged at his self-control holding him alive. Regarding his young lover of the incarnation of Miracle itself, he had to admit that his own centuries-cultured endurance had also reached the limit.

Dimeritium could not strip his magic off, as exterior energy was not necessary for casting to a Source Mage like him. Although he did not have Zireael's ability, his blood had nevertheless been regarded as an indispensable part of the Elder Blood genealogy. All in a sudden, the handcuffs on his wrists popped open, the spider-silk ropes binding his limbs unknotted and snaked away. Their subtle click and rustle were only heard by him.

※

Ciri sprawled on top of Avallac'h in a lazy and pliant pile, listening to his still erratic heartbeat and laboured breathing as her hands absentmindedly stroked at his waist. She did want to "fuck" him; but in the end, she just climaxed on her own. With her mentor underneath her body, heat still unquenched and totally at her mercy, she couldn’t help but feel a little apologetic. After a moment of dazing, she decided that she should take him again afterwards.

Then, two free arms suddenly cupped at her bottom and placed her squirming entrance against his unsatisfied member, teasing with delightful torture. Before she could raise her face in protest, the unexpected sweet shudder of being filled in the afterglow and a familiar magical tinging robbed her of her voice in an instant.

"Zireael, you have skipped your class."

※

"Honestly, I hate it here. Quite a few of elves gossip in your back, either saying that you depreciate yourself for me, or that you have forced me in some way, or that I have forced you. As if I don't even exist." He just thoroughly had her ruffled hair groomed and fur stroked, words from the Lion Cub of Cintra still stung like hateful bites. _It is very likely that she will not deign to come here again for a long time, perhaps even forever_ \- He stared at the flickering candlelight, pushing the depressing thoughts out of his mind, his right hand gradually finding its way into her long hair.

"I hate Ge'els." He muttered. _Should prepare some ointment for her skin after_ \- With her thinly callused palm tracing the outline of his jaw, he simply closed his eyes and sank into her touch, which was slightly rougher than expected.

"Don't forget your 'acquaintances'. I hate them." The witcheress wrinkled her nose again, the sharp inquiry in her eyes almost identical to her foster mother's, the only difference in her tone being a glimpse of aggrievance, honest but stubborn: "And you were staring at them too, but not at me." And then she elbowed him on the chest, but hardly forceful.

The Aen Saeverne just wanted to sigh to the heavens at this. "Ciri, have you forgotten? In stories from your people, foxes dare to mess with lions usually don't end well. I have long since fallen under your paws, yet you think I can escape from your claws."

Fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A Source is a mage "born with magic", with the most prominent example being Ciri herself. Ciri can still do her iconic time-space jump: 1. after she lost her ability to cast from an exterior energy source, 2. on the Temple Island full of Dimeritium-equipped witch-hunters, I gradually come to the conclusion of Dimeritium being useless to Sources since they can draw energy from an inner source(or their own life energy).  
> Also, since Avallac'h, Caranthir and Ciri are all immune to Dimeritium, I do believe most mages produced in and prepared for the Aen Elle Elder Blood plan are Sources lol.


End file.
